


The Night Was Also Moist

by PervyPenguin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Minions, Not God!Chuck, Prophet Chuck, drunk chuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:09:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7852000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PervyPenguin/pseuds/PervyPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck is going to die, he just knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Was Also Moist

The night was dark and stormy, rain pounding against the window like wet, dead fingers begging to be let inside, the blackness around him only disturbed by a flash of lightning. He buried his head in his hands, shivering and flinching when the thunder rolled.

“What have I done?” he murmured to himself, over and over again. “What the hell have I done.”

He knew he shouldn’t have opened that 3rd bottle of tequila. Writing was hard enough sober, while drunk it was just ridiculous. And that stupid movie had been stuck in his DVD player, playing on repeat in the background. Still, that was no excuse. He was a prophet, everything he wrote would come true. And worse, the Winchesters knew where he lived.

Chuck leaned back in his chair, one hand running over his face, as he tried to come to terms with the fact that he would no doubt die once the brothers managed to rid themselves of this new menace. The little yellow beasts weren’t really dangerous, but that didn’t seem to matter to Sam and Dean. Not to mention that angel that hung around them. To be completely honest, he wasn’t even sure they could die. If anyone figured it out, it would be the three of them, Team Free Will. At least unless you weren’t human.

“Papa pudum pem help?” The creature on his couch asked.

“No, George, I don’t think so. You and Albert just… eat some fruit or something.”

“Ooooh, bapple!” 

Maybe Chuck could talk his way out of death. After all, he didn’t really come up with this shit, he just wrote it down, right? And Minions (oh god, he made real life Minions) were more like an annoying, clumsy group of dogs than a pack of werewolves. But he couldn’t count on it. Might as well have another shot. No reason to face the Winchesters sober. He poured one for himself, paused, and then poured two more, one for each Minion on his couch. 

“Cheers, boys.”

“Kampai!”

**Author's Note:**

> This is for SPNColdestHits, a monthly crack fic challenge. See [here](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/tagged/rules) for more deatails. Follow my tumblr [ here!](http://phangirlpenguin.tumblr.com)


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